That doesn't sound ambitious enough to me. I ascend up the double-three ladder of death in mere months as well, so I plan on drinking equal parts of the hair-care products of the John Edwardses -- both the baby-kissing candidate AND the ballroom-dancing psychic -- blended well with Scotch whisky served cold from Geronimo's skull or Lord Stanley's Cup, whichever I can get my wrinkled and slowly degenerating talons on easiest.

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That doesn't sound ambitious enough to me. I ascend up the double-three ladder of death in mere months as well, so I plan on drinking equal parts of the hair-care products of the John Edwardses -- both the baby-kissing candidate AND the ballroom-dancing psychic -- blended well with Scotch whisky served cold from Geronimo's skull or Lord Stanley's Cup, whichever I can get my wrinkled and slowly degenerating talons on easiest.

That's a good start. John Edwards works a few minutes away from me at the Institute of Government, so I should go ambush him in his office and demand the secret of his longevity; I imagine it has something to do with the Order of Ghimghoul. Meanwhile, I suppose the Stanley Cup (or, at least, one of 'em) is over in Raleigh, so that makes for a convienent bit of B&E.